Londontown is Burning Down
by Canadian Hogan's Fan
Summary: On one of the darkest nights in London's history, Newkirk's sister Mavis comes to terms with her family and the effects of war. Part two in the Sisterhood of War.
1. The letter

A/N: I claim ownership to all non-series characters.

I've found writing this story was a challenge, as I'm not used to using British slang or grammar. I've done my best to use them correctly, but if I've made any mistakes, let me know and I'll correct them asap.

28 December, 1940,

Dear Peter,

I hope this letter finds you well and that the brass-monkey weather's gone in Germany. (Did you get the wool almonds(1) I sent you for Chrimble?(2) Alistair and I got the shirt and scarf you made us and they're lovely, exactly what we needed.) It's been perishing here in Stepney too. Maybe that's Hitler's plan for winning the war. I can picture him screaming at his bootlickers, "If the bombs won't stop them, the clouds and damp will!" Well, whatever his plans, they're doomed to fail. A bit of cold never stopped us. We're all behind you, Peter. We're so proud of you.

Speaking of pride, the other family darling, little Glynis, says ta for the dresses you made for her dolls (she refused to unwrap the rest of her pressies until she had a good play with them.) I think it was the best part of Chrimble for her, especially since she's getting over a stubborn cold. Last night was the first she slept through in a week, a miracle considering how the Germans have tried to blast us to bits.

Don't worry, though. Alistair heard they didn't do much damage this time. Yes, he's still working at Broadcasting House, although this is one time I wish he'd get sacked. I know what you've said about the yanks in camp with you, but I'm not sure I like the idea of Alistair spending so much time with the ones here reporting on the war. I told him he'd better be home for dinner tomorrow because I'm making something special for our anniversary, (well, as special as the ration book will allow.) Can you believe it's been three years already?

I'll never forget that mad week when you wrote me that Mr. Bloomington gave you a few days off so you could come. If that weren't good news enough, Da changed his mind and promised he'd be there too, and not be tanked up. I think he might've kept his word if he hadn't seen his mates down the pub on his way to church. Lord, how I blubbered in my daisy bouquet when the minister said we couldn't wait for him any longer because we were two hours behind.

Bless you for your level head, brother. You hugged me and whispered in my ear as I wiped my eyes. "Don't cry. I promise nothing else'll go wrong." Then, you took my hand and told the church's note-plunker to start playing. What a pair we made going down the aisle, you the dashing chap in your brown suit, me the ghost in that overgrown snot rag (3) of a dress. Promise me we'll get different pictures taken of us together when the war's over.

I love you, Peter. Come home soon.

Mavis

P.S. We saw Da Christmas Eve and I'm visiting him tomorrow. I know you probably think I'm a nit, but I hope you'll still wish me luck.

oOo

"Mavis. Mavis."

I groaned as my few precious moments of sleep vanished. "Mmm?"

"I'm home."

I looked up and smiled at Alistair's round, freckled face. "How was work?"

He shrugged, his broad shoulders sagging the way they did when he was tired. "The usual. How long've you been napping?"

I yawned, rubbing my eyes as I sat up. "I just put Glynis to bed."

He glanced at the gaudy grandfather clock his mother gave us when we married. "So, if you put her to bed at eight like normal, that means you've been asleep for two hours. What were you doing to make yourself nod off?" He pulled a piece of paper from under my hand. "Writing your brother?"

"Uh huh," I said, flinching as pain knifed through my shoulders. "Remind me not to be doing it again if I can't stay awake."

He frowned. "You're not serious."

"Straight up. I think I've wrecked me neck."

"No, I mean about visiting your da."

I nodded, my fingers tentatively probing my shoulders. "I'm going tomorrow."

He kneeled beside me and started rubbing my neck. "Ah, Mavis, don't do this. You know how upset you get when you see him. You won't speak to us for a week unless it's to bite our bleeding heads off."

I almost shrieked when he squeezed a knot. "I know," I gasped. "But he's the only family I've got left here. I love him."

Alistair sighed. "Alright. I don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

I turned and kissed his cheek. "Ta, love, but I can handle it. Don't worry."

1) Cockney rhyming slang for socks

2) Christmas

3) Handkerchief


	2. The Visit

"Tell me about Grandpapa," Glynis said, hoping over cracks in the heaving pavement (1) a few blocks away from our flat.

I sighed, taking her hand. "Well, Grandpa was a porter. He went all over England helping people with their luggage when they traveled on his chuffer (2)."

She paused, bending over a patch of grass growing between the stone. "How did he meet Grandmuma?"

"Grandma was a dancer. She was traveling from London to Birmingham when he helped her with her luggage. She said it was love at first touch when his hand brushed hers as he took her case." I smiled, remembering how she beamed when she told the story. "They were married before they arrived."

Glynis brushed hair from her eyes. "Grandmuma's Big Glynis."

I nodded. "Yes, love, Grandma's name was Glynis too."

"Can we see her soon?"

I shielded my eyes as I looked up at the thin grey clouds. "I don't know, sweet pea. We'll see. The cemetery's awfully far away."

Glynis jerked out of my grip and dashed across the street to the playground Peter took me to whenever Mum and Da were fighting about his spending all our pounds at the pub.

"Glynis!" I shouted, grateful no cars were on the street at the moment. "Get your bottom back here!"

She shrieked with laughter and raced ahead.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, running after her. "Glynis! Come back!" I grabbed her waist as she charged into the park. "Don't do that again! You scared me. I…"

I gasped, taking in the ruin before us. I'd been wrong in writing Peter there'd been little damage. The apple-red slide I loved whiled away the hours on had twisted and toppled onto a mess of concrete and steel that used to be the roundabout (3) Peter pushed on until I fell off in dizzy giggles. I couldn't even see the swings we catapulted ourselves off of anymore.

"Oh, Peter," I whispered, my heart feeling like it would shatter after each beat.

Glynis fidgeted under me. "Mum!" she whined. "Let me go! You're squishing me!"

"Sorry, love." I pulled her away. "C'mon. We're going to see Auntie Charlotte."

oOo

Charlotte looked like a bus had smacked her when she opened the door to her flat.

"What are ye looking at me like that fer?" she snapped, putting her hands on her ever-thickening hips. "Yer a fine one to judge, ye stinkin' fishwife!"

I smiled and hugged her. "The same to you, sea hag." Charlotte and I had been best friends for years. She used words like fishwife the way people used love or ducky. "You look like you just returned from battle."

Charlotte cursed as a steaming pot boiled over onto her stove. Her boy, Joseph, who she'd stuck in a cot, let out a wail as she waddled past him to the kitchen. "I'm still in the thick of it, thank ye very much. It won't end until I grab a few winks, and even the Jerries've been taking that away presently." She waved a spoon at me. "I could show our lads a thing or two about survival tactics, I'll tell ye."

Glynis grabbed my legs and looked up at me as if to say 'are you daft woman, leaving me with this loon?'

"Go on!" I hissed, prying her hands off me. "Get Mathew and the rest of the boys."

"What?" Charlotte called, sampling the pot's contents. "Speak up!"

I joined her by the stove. "How's Charlie liking the Merchant Navy?"

She shrugged. "'He doesn't complain much in his letters, which worries me. You know Charlie. He's not 'appy unless he's belly-aching."

I jumped back when her concoction whistled. "Don't worry. He's probably just busy giving the Third Reich hell."

"Aye, and wrecking havoc ashore. Thank the Lord they didn't put 'im and Peter together. There'd be nothing left of the Jerries, or of Britannia."

I frowned. "That's a fine thing to say!"

Her smile disappeared. "What's got yer knickers in a twist? You sound like ye lost yer best friend, and she's still here last time I checked."

I sighed. "You remember the old playground?"

"Yeh?"

"The Jerries reduced it to rubble last night."

Charlotte shook her head. "Those bloody bastards won't stop until they destroy everything, will they?"

I peeked out the window at the empty street below us. "How much is left for them to destroy? People are afraid to let their children out to play, or linger on the sidewalk too long in case that nutter in Berlin has ordered another attack." I looked back at her. "Don't take this unkindly, dear, but thank God Alistair's flat feet won't let him serve in anything more than the Home Guard."

She stared at me as if I'd told her I wanted to leap off London Bridge. "What?"

"I'm tired of seeing people I care about being sent off to die. I'm tired of being brave for Peter, writing him how everything's fine when I can't sleep at night for worrying I'll never see him again. I'm tired of telling Glynis we'll be alright when the world around her's gone crackers." I ran my hand through the tangles in my hair. "I'm sick of it all! I don't care if the Germans win anymore if it means I could live the rest of me life in peace."

Charlotte slammed her spoon back into the pot, spilling more liquid onto the stove. I covered my nose at the sweet burnt stench it gave off. "I ough ta give yer loaf a good soak in this stew. What kind of talk is that? Yer an Englishwoman! The Germans can take away our nights, our flats and maybe even a few of us, but they can't take away our dignity." She jabbed a thick finger into my shoulder, her hazel eyes blazing. "We can't let them! If they do, then the war's lost, and Peter's a prisoner for nothing."

I glared at her, which she returned tenfold. "Ruddy hell," I said, reaching for her. "You're right. I don't know what came over me. Ta."

She squeezed me back. "Anytime."

"And ta for looking after Glynis."

"It's a pleasure. She's such a well-behaved little darlin.' Yer Dad could take a few lessons from 'er."

I pulled away. "Speaking of him, I'd best be going. He's waiting for me."

"You're a better woman than I am. Good luck."

oOo

"Mavis! Where's my pipe? Where's my beer?"

I flinched as I looked at the middle-aged nurse behind the front desk. "Oi, Nancy. Has he been at it all morning?"

She nodded. "He's going on day number two now. Begging your pardon ma'am, but I've never seen such a cantankerous old fart. I don't know what's got him all riled up."

"Mavis!"

I sighed. "I'm sorry he's been a bother. I'll try to quiet him down."

"Good luck dear," she called after me as I followed his gravelly cries down the corridor to his ward. Thankfully, the patients in the beds beside him were either unconscious or deaf, as they seemed oblivious to his fussing.

I sat down on the edge of Da's painfully thin bed and took in his pasty complexion. His once handsome face had swollen up like a squirrel with a full mouth and his skin had turned a ripe banana colour since I'd last visited. _Damn the drink. Look what it's done to him._

"Mavis!" he shouted.

"I'm right here, Da," I said, trying to ignore my ringing ears.

He leaned forward, his rheumy eyes struggling to focus on me. "It is you isn't it? About time you got here."

I took his hand. "How are you?"

"Terrible. The food's rotten, I can't sleep for all the people moaning and screaming day and night, and the nurses ignore me whenever I need something."

I gasped. "What? Why would they do that?"

"They hate me, that's why. Everyone hates me."

I rolled my eyes. "No, Da, nobody hates you. What do you need?"

"A drink."

I shook my head. "The doctor says you can't have it anymore. It's not good for you."

He slapped the mattress. "Blast their hides. I'm old enough to know what's good for me and what's not. I need a drink."

"What _else_ do you need?"

"Fresh bedding, a dig (4) and someone to take me out for some fresh air."

I would've laughed if anyone else had said it. "You're in hospital, Da, not Buckingham Palace. I'll talk to the nurses, but I'm sure they're doing the best they can. There are other people here who need their help."

He tried to sit up, but fell back against his flatted pillow. "I don't understand why I'm here anyway. I want me own bed in me own house."

I took a deep breath as my patience wore thin. "Da, your house was destroyed by a bomb. You broke your leg when it happened because you didn't take proper shelter. Now, you have to stay here until it heals." _If it ever heals_. The doctor's didn't think it likely. "Now, I've got a letter from Peter. Would you like to me to read it to you?"

"No!" he snapped.

I took the letter out of my bag anyway. "Dear Mave," I read. "Ta for sending the woolly(5) with your last letter. It's been marvelous for keeping the cold away. The scones you sent were also delicious. I hope you don't mind, but I shared them with me mates in camp. Everyone said to tell you how good they were."

"Lord love a duck," Da mumbled. "I need a dig and you're flapping about baking."

"Just listen."

"Don't tell me what to do!" he spat. "Nobody tells me how to live me life; not you and _especially_ not Peter. That bastard's always thought he was better than me."

My heart sank. "Don't talk that way."

"Now, your mum never ordered me about. She loved and supported me no matter what." He seemed to stare through me as his eyes unfocused. "The Lord broke the mold when he made her. I was the luckiest horse's arse that ever lived the day she married me."

I nodded. He'd said it before. "Yes, Da."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't be cheeky. I've had my arse full of that with your brother. Utterly useless lad. Always being pinched by bloody coppers for stealing sweets or wallets. I had more bobbies on my doorstep than a bitch has litters."

"Da…"

"And you! You're never around when I need you."

I fought to keep my tone even as guilt surged through me. "I'm sorry I have to work so much, but Alistair isn't earning enough to support us right now."

"It's always excuses with you," he muttered. "Well, excuses don't do the shopping or laundry, or comfort me when I'm scared. You don't know what it's like to be all alone with nothing but your fears to keep you company, _especially _at Christmas."

I tapped my foot against the scratched floor. "We saw you Christmas Eve!"

"I have needs, Mavis, I can't do everything on my own. God knows it hasn't been easy with your mum's passing." He flung my hand away and pointed to his legs. "I needed you the night this happened to me."

My throat seemed to shrink with each of his words. "I came as soon as I heard and stayed with you the rest of the night."

He gave me a look that could've cut me like butcher's beef. "You think that makes up for all my suffering?"

"Da, I'm sorry." I whimpered, suddenly feeling as helpless as I did when he started raving at Mum.

"You ought to be. You've been a pain in my arse a good many years now."

I looked away. "What did I do?"

"What did you do?" He hissed. "_What did you do? _You let the first randy knob who ever looked at your ugly face put you in the club with his bastard before you made him marry you. You know how many people laughed in my face when they heard?" He rolled away from me. "Your brother may've been an embarrassment, but you, _you_, brought shame on my house. You aren't even fit to lick his boots."

I leapt up and bolted from the room, no longer fighting the tears.

1) sidewalk

2) train

3) merry go round

4) a shave

5) A woollen jumper or cardigan.


	3. There Shall Be No Night

I wish I could say I carried on with my day like nothing had happened. I should have, God knows Da had talked to me like that enough times. Instead, I went from the hospital to work at the GPO(1) in a fog, trying to drive his words from my head.

"Hello Mavis," the redhead beside me, said, chewing on her usual imaginary piece of gum. "How're you today?"

I slid my telephonist headphones over my ears. "As peachy as a rosebud in December, Jane. Has Myrtle been using my equipment again?"

"Why?"

I winced. "I feel like I've put my loaf in a vice."

The switchboard buzzed, cutting her laugh short. "Ruddy hell. It begins already."

oOo

The rest of the day passed in a blur of surly military personnel demanding to be connected to their party, a few even yelling at me when I couldn't do it instantly. My anger with Myrtle had turned to gratitude by the time she relieved me.

"Have a great night!" she said in her infuriatingly chipper voice.

"You too," I replied, managing a friendly tone as I headed for the coatroom.

"Mavis, wait up!" Jane called from behind me. "Do you want to get some nibbles? It's on me."

I sighed. "I'd love to, but not tonight. I'm making a special dinner for Alistair and me. It's our anniversary." Guilt ripped through me as her smile disappeared. "Look," I added hastily. "I'll take you out next week after pay day. My treat."

Jane nodded, looking away. "Sure. I'll see you tomorrow."

I watched her go, the urge to tell her I'd changed my mind tugging against my desire to get Glynis and go home. The later won. I slipped into my coat and headed out, the throbbing in my head easing as the cold evening air outside kissed my forehead.

Why was Da so cruel? I thought. _What did I do wrong?_

I reached in my pocket and pulled out a rolly(2) and lighter. _Damn. I've gone almost five days without a craving. Since the last time I saw Da, come to think of it. _

I lit the rolly's end, shielding the flame from a biting gust of wind, and exhaled the stale smoke from my lungs. _Bloody marvelous, another thing for Alistair to give me hell for. "_If it isn't the Jerrries that get you, it'll be your dad."

The droning wail of air raid sirens cut through my thoughts. I looked up at the darkening sky as the sharp crack of gunfire and a deafening grinding roar announced approaching planes.

"Jerries!" an elderly gentleman screamed, grabbing my arm as he hobbled past me with the aid of a cane. "We're under attack!"

I shielded my eyes against a brilliant flash of white light. The bomb that caused the flash exploded, shaking the ground so violently my knees almost gave way.

"C'mon, you daft woman!" He yelled, pulling me along with more strength than I'd expected as anti-aircraft guns boomed in reply. "Sir!" He motioned to a man in a helmet like one Da wore in the Great War, except for a white W painted on it. "Help me get her below."

He grabbed my other arm. "Now, lass," he said, as if talking to a frightened dog. I detected a hint of an Irish accent in his speech. "Come with us. You'll be safe underground."

I thought of Alistair and wondered if he was helping someone like me, or Charlotte. _Charlotte. Glynis._

"Wait!" I screamed, dropping my rolly as they pulled me to the underground entrance, which was obscured by rows of sand bags. "I have to get my daughter!"

"What does she look like?"

"She's three years old with brown hair and blue eyes like mine, and she's wearing," I paused, fighting to keep the panic rising in me from muddling my memory. "A blue coat."

The air raid warden shook his head. "I haven't seen her, but I'll let you know if I do."

I fought their grips. "You've got to help me find her! She could be wandering the streets, scared and alone!"

"Sorry, ma'am, I can't let you go. You could get killed out there."

I screamed a few choice words that would've even made Peter blush. It didn't faze my rescuers, however, who wrestled me halfway down the steps before I broke free.

"Glynis!" I shouted against the explosions, which grew louder and closer. "Glynis!"

"That's quite enough, ma'am," the warden growled, grabbing my ankles and sweeping me over his shoulder like a limp doll. I howled and kicked as another blast rattled the walls around us.

"You bloody murderer!" I screamed. "You killed her!"

He ignored me and put me down next to the old man, who'd found a bench seat, before tending to the crowd of people filing down the steps. My nose burned against the mix of burnt dust, gaspers(2) and sweat in the air.

"That's quite a fuss you made, and with such vulgar language for a woman," the geezer said, pulling a pipe and pouch from his trouser pocket. "If you were that worried about your daughter, you would've kept a better eye on her."

I bit my tongue as he lit his pipe. "She's with a friend of mine. I had to work today."

"Oh." The disapproval in his tone was stronger than the smell of his cheap tobacco. "What a world we live in. In my day, women stayed in the kitchen where they belonged."

"You sound like my father."

"And just who might he be?"

"Crawford Newkirk." _You nosy bastard._

His disgust disappeared as he chuckled. "I know 'im. We worked together on the railway. 'E was always good for a laugh, and generous with money too." He patted my back. "You're lucky to have a Da like him."

_You obviously never knew him._ Guilt stabbed at me before I finished the thought. Maybe I was too hard on him. Maybe he'd earned the right to be angry, especially at me, since I was such a disappointment for him._ And a failure as Glynis's mum._

I stood up and walked off, hoping to drive away thoughts of firemen finding my dead daughter buried under a pile of rubble. I covered my ears as another explosion shook the tunnel. Children screamed as the lamps above us flickered. A chorus of mums murmuring 'it's alright,' and 'don't worry, mummy's here,' followed their cries.

I stopped, suddenly aware of a woman on my right hanging laundry on a line strung against the wall and a girl changing a baby's nappies(3) on my left. _It's as if they call this place home._I watched as strangers in front of me huddled together, sharing blankets and gaspers as if they known each other all their lives. _Maybe there's hope for us yet._

A girl let out a wail behind me. I turned as her father, who strummed an acoustic guitar, tried to hush her.

"I'm scared," she cried. "I want me mum."

I held her until her shaking passed. "Don't cry, luv. Everything's going to be alright." I wiped the last of her tears away. "Would you like me to sing to you? Me mum used to sing to me whenever I was scared."

She stared at me, her hazel eyes reflecting my own uncertainty.

I turned to her father. "Do you know any folk songs?"

He nodded. "Sing and I'll pick it up."

I took a deep breath. "Forgive me if I hurt your ears, sweet pea, I haven't done this for awhile."

_In Banbridge town in the County Down_

_One morning last July_

_From the bóithrín green came a sweet cailín_

_And she smiled as she passed me by._

_She looked so sweet from her two bare feet_

_To the crown of her nut brown hair_

_Such a coaxing elf, sure I pinched myself_

_To make sure I was really there._

I was a bit rusty, but she didn't flinch at my sour notes. Her dad, however, struggled to pick up the melody.

_From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay_

_From Galway to Dublin town_

_No maid I've seen like the brown cailín_

That I met in the County Down.

I turned as a small woman with a shawl around her shoulders picked up the next verse. A little boy clutching a teddy bear stared at us with wide green eyes. I smiled and motioned for him to join us. He looked over at a soot-covered woman making tea on a small stove, who nodded at him, before scurrying over.

_At the harvest fair she'll be surely there_

_And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes_

_With my shoes shined bright, my hat cocked right_

_For a smile from the nut-brown rose._

_No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke_

_Till my plow is a rust coloured brown_

_Till a smiling bride by my own fireside_

_Is the star of the County Down._

The dad found the melody as a group of nippers(4) circled us. The grown ups who weren't singing were clapping, whistling or stomping their feet by the time we finished.

"That was lovely," the small woman said, grasping my shoulder. "You took me back to when I was a bonny lass playing in the hills. Where did you hear that song? You don't sound Irish, if you'll pardon me saying so."

I smiled. "My mother traveled all over the empire, picking up ditties wherever she heard them." _Mostly in dancehalls._

"Thank her for me, will yeh? She's given this woman a bit of peace before she dies."

I didn't bother correcting her before she hobbled off and passed a young man in an RAF uniform. I had to look twice when he approached me. He could've been Peter's twin, except for a beard and an accent so thick I could barely understand him.

"It'm a perty tune, you know," he mumbled, staring at the pavement.

"Ta," I said, suddenly feeling warm and safe like I did when I was with Peter. "Beggin your pardon, but what part of England are you from?"

He shook his head. "I'se a Newfoundlander. I joined the RAF because I've bin on boats all my life and I'se sick of them." He shuffled his feet. "Haven't done much flying yet. Only just got here."

My heart sank. I'd hoped he could tell me something about Peter, like what he was like in training or before he left for France.

"Say," he said, looking at the children sitting crossed legged around us. "Would you like to 'ear a song I learned while on a cod trap crew?"

The children oohed and awed as another explosion rocked the ground.

Newfoundland Peter motioned to the dad, who'd bent protectively around his guitar. "Mind if I try? I've adone this many a time at house parties."

The dad handed it over reluctantly and flinched as Newfoundland Peter bashed the strings with his right thumb.

_I's the b'y that builds the boat _

_And I's the b'y that sails her! _

_I's the b'y that catches the fish_

_And brings them home to Liza. _

I jumped as he bellowed the words like he was fighting a gale. The children, however, clapped and shrieked with delight.

_Hip yer partner, Sally Tibbo _

_Hip yer partner, Sally Brown_

_Fogo, Twillingate, Moreton's Harbour_

_All around the circle!_

I fumbled through the next chorus, not understanding a ruddy word I was saying. Still, his gaiety was catching.

_I don't want your maggoty fish_

_They're no good for winter!_

_I could buy as good as that _

_Down in Bonavista._

He paused his singing, strumming a few chords. "Now, I took Lizer to a dance. You want to know what happened?"

The children's eyes grew wider as they nodded.

I took Liza to a dance

_As fast as she could travel_

_And every step that she did take_

_She landed in the gravel._

_Hip yer partner, Sally Tibbo _

_Hip yer partner, Sally Brown_

_Fogo, Twillingate, Moreton's Harbour_

All around the circle!

He bashed his thumb against the strings and let quiet reign before another explosion shattered the moment. Sweet Pea grabbed my waist while her dad grabbed his guitar.

"You bloody sailors are all alike, a crude lot," he snapped above the wailing and fresh tears.

I almost told him to shut his stupid trap when I spotted a familiar face coming down the stairs with the warden. "Jane!" I called, standing up. She looked around as I came to her, almost tripping over a dog chasing its tail while I ran. "Jane!"

The warden frowned when he saw me. "I told you before…."

I shook my head. "She's a friend of mine. I'll look after her."

"Mavis," she whispered as I took her arm. "Is that you?"

My eyebrows rose. "Yes, Jane, it's me. Are you alright?"

She touched her forehead. "I think so. I was on my way home when the bombs started."

"Don't try to talk."

"The sun's rising, but you can hardly see it, it's so cloudy. It smells rotten outside, like the house after me mum cooked supper."

I grabbed her arm as she stumbled, almost collapsing under her full weight. Newfoundland Peter must've seen us, as he rushed to our aid. I gasped as he lifted her right arm over his shoulders, revealing a bloodstain on the side of her blouse. "Jane, you're not alright!"

She looked down at her wound. "That's funny. I don't feel anything," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Warden!" Newfoundland Peter shouted, laying her down and making a pillow for her with his jacket. "Get an ambulance!"

"Mavis," she whimpered, groping weakly for my hand as he tore strips of his shirt for bandages. "Don't leave me."

I took her fingers and squeezed them in mine. "I'm right here, darling.'"

"Get Jim. Bonny Jim."

"Jane…"

"Remember the lake, Jim? How pretty it was? You could see our reflections, plain as day in it. Could've watched our wedding upside down if you'd wanted to."

My cheeks burned as she rambled. I didn't know she was married. She didn't wear a wedding ring and hadn't mentioned Jim before now.

"Remember, Jim?" she asked, distress creeping into her voice.

"I remember," I whispered.

The children around us screamed as another bomb exploded close by. Mercifully, Jane didn't seem to hear, or comprehend it anymore.

"Remember our honeymoon before you left for training? And that beautiful cottage in Scotland? How many babies did we plan on having?"

"Ma'am." I looked up as Newfoundland Peter touched my shoulder and waved at two grim, soot-covered men bearing a stretcher. "I stopped an ambulance. They need to take her now."

I nodded and let go of Jane's hand. She cried out and tried to struggle as they lifted her onto the stretcher. "Jim! Come back! Don't leave me again. I almost died the day I got the telegram."

I stroked her hair. "I'm here darling, don't cry." I turned to the blonde stretcher-bearer beside me. "I'd better come along. She'll be less trouble that way."

He shrugged. "Fine. I'm too tired to argue with yeh. Just keep up with us."

I did what he asked, despite almost knocking my Hampsteads (5) out trying to keep my balance while holding Jane's hand. It wasn't long before we emerged to a hellish sky and a stench of combined smoke, gunpowder and a stomach-wrenchingly sweet smell I couldn't name.

"What's happening?" I asked as a disheveled woman pushing a pram-full of clothes and dishes passed us, looking off someplace I couldn't begin to imagine.

"The Jerries got Islington," the stretcher-bearer said. "Heard they got Guildhall too. Seems like half of London's on fire tonight. Wouldn't surprise me if St. Paul's burned down."

My breath caught in my throat as I peered through hazy pink-white smoke where a bakery had stood and watched flames consume a church on the next block. I could hear their crackling and the firemen's shouts from here. Anti-aircraft fire flashed in tiny brilliant specks as a barrage balloon, which looked pink instead of silver in the light, passed overhead.

I turned back to Jane as she moaned. Her eyes were open and clearer than I'd ever seen them.

"Why do they hate us so much?" she asked, so faintly I had to put my ear next to her mouth to hear.

I felt helpless as I watched them load her into the ambulance. "I wish I knew."

She'd closed her eyes again by the time I climbed in with her. 

"Hurry!" I yelled as they slammed the doors behind us.

Jane gave a shallow sigh as the ambulance started forward, its tires crackled under the debris on the road.

(1) General Post Office, which operated England's telephone service during the Second World War.

(2) Slang words for cigarettes.

(3) Diaper.

(4) Children.

(5) Teeth.

A/N: I opted not to write Newfoundland Peter's speech completely as how he probably would have talked to prevent breaking the story's flow. I apologize to those from Newfoundland if I've used the speech patterns or slang incorrectly.

Also, I don't own the words to either song used in this chapter, and haven't included the full lyrics to save space. _Star of the County Down_ is an Irish folk song and _I'se the B'y_ is a Newfoundland/Maritime folk song. Both were introduced to me through a wonderful trio called Glencoulee, based in Lethbridge, Alberta. While neither of their versions of these songs are available online, I recommend anyone who's interested search Youtube for Star Of The County Down by Van Morrison and the Chieftains - and I'se The B'y by Great Big Sea. Both versions are close to the Glencoulee recordings.


	4. The Future

When the doctor had a moment between tending to sobbing children with bloody stumps where their limbs had been, he confirmed what I knew by drawing a stained sheet over Jane and motioning for orderlies to take her away. I answered his questions about her next of kin and what had happened as best I could, but my answers were just as unsatisfying to me as the answer I gave Jane for why the Germans murdered her.

I never understood why Mum cried the day Chamberlain declared there'd be peace between England and Germany, I thought, watching a fireman stagger past me, clutching a bandage to his head_. Now I do. Nothing justifies the organized destruction of people who are no more a threat to another country than the sunshine. _

I leaned against the wall as exhaustion threatened to send me into a dreamless sleep. _What's wrong with me? I should be crying over Jane; God knows I want to. Some friend I am. I didn't even know she was married, or that her husband died. No wonder she looked at me like I had ten heads when I mentioned our anniversary._

I sighed. _I should've been with her anyway. Maybe I could've saved her. _

Knock off that talk, I thought. _You don't know if you could've saved Jane. Besides, there's no point in dwelling on maybes when it doesn't change matters._

"Mavis! Mavis! Where the bloody 'ell is that twit?"

My eyes flew open_. Not now. I can't deal with him._

"_Mavis!_"

I took a deep breath and went to find him.

Da was in his bed, his face red from bellowing. "About time you got here! Where have you been?"

I folded my arms. "I was with a friend. She died."

He waved at a passing nurse. "You see what I mean. They don't listen to me."

"Did you hear me Da? I said she died."

"Bah," he wheezed. "Life is for the living."

I narrowed my eyes. "What were you having a fit about?"

He pointed to the bed across from him, where a woman thrashed and moaned. "Make the nurses shush her up. I can't sleep."

I turned away to hide my disgust. "Da, these people are hurt. The Germans have been bombing again. London's on fire."

"I don't give a rat's arse what you say the German's have been doing. I need my sleep!"

"Ignore it, which ought to be easy because you're half deaf, anyway."

He rubbed his eyes. "I need you to take me to the barber in the morning! I look like a damn sheep dog, and these stupid bitches won't do anything about it."

I shook my head. "Da, I can't."

"Of course you can't. You never have time for me," He harrumphed. "Who's the one who made sure you had food in your mouth, a roof to rest your pretty head under and a smile on your face? You owe me."

I whirled around, clenching my hands. "How dare you! Mum and Peter gave me those things! You never paid me the slightest mind but to call me a failure."

He smiled. "You look like your mother when you're angry."

I grabbed his shoulders. "I'm not my mother, or Peter. I'm me, Mavis. Your only daughter, Da. Why don't you love me?"

"You're a…."

"I know, I know. I've made mistakes, but Alistair and Glynis weren't mistakes. They're the best things that ever happened to me and you've got a lot of nerve to say otherwise! They're part of your family too."

He looked me over. "So, are you taking me for a trim or not?"

I fought the urge to shake him until his loaf snapped off. "Will you stop flapping about your bloody hair? Don't you understand what I'm saying?

He scowled. "What do you want, an apology?"

"It would be nice, considering you called your only grandchild a bastard this morning."

"What do I have to be sorry for, telling the truth?"

I trembled as blind rage overtook me. "The truth! The truth is I've always known what you are, but I've refused to admit it because I thought that, just once, you'd treat me as kindly as your friends if I could prove myself worthy of it. People were always saying how wonderful you were, so I believed I must be truly awful because you've never shown me any affection. I know better now. People never see the real you, the one who's incapable of thinking of anyone but yourself!" I stood up. "I love you Da, but I've had enough of your judgments. You'll probably never approve of me and life is too short to waste worrying about it, but I do deserve some respect. I'm not coming to see you again until you're ready to give it to me."

I don't know what hurt more, his callousness that morning, or when he didn't try to stop me. Still, I felt better than I had in ages having said my piece.

"Mum!"

My lightness turned to elation as Glynis sprinted to me.

I grabbed her as she tackled my legs. "Oh, ducky, thank heavens you're alright." I said, hugging her as hard as I could.

"There you are, sea hag."

I smiled as my dear friend waddled over. She looked as tired as I felt, but all right. "Charlotte, what are you doing here?"

"Checking the 'ospitals to see if you were a patient." She pointed to the ceiling. "They just gave the all clear."

I cocked my head, my ears straining to filter out the noise around us. "You're right," I murmured, as I heard what sounded like a persistent chuffer horn. "Thank God, it's over."

oOo

It took me a few hours to get home with the bedlam of people going to work and the homeless and tired wandering the streets, gaping at the charred ruins around them. Glynis, thankfully, fell asleep in my arms halfway home.

I'd put her to bed when our front door closed.

"Alistair," I whispered, rushing to the hall.

Alistair looked up at me with a dazed expression. He moved his lips, though no words came out.

I ran into his arms, my tears finally falling as I kissed his cheeks with a passion I didn't think I was capable of.

oOo

28 February, 1941

Dear Peter,

I've just come home from doctor's and I have to tell someone. It'll be hours before Alistair gets home and with Charlotte being out, you're the only one I can talk to, if only through letters. I'm going to be a mum again. You're the first to know, though I think Alistair suspects something because I've been sick for the last week. I have a feeling it's a boy. I feel exactly the way Mum said she did when she had you.

Yes, the worst of the bombing seems to be over, but I'm not the most objective one to ask. Nothing seems so bad after that horrid night in December. Still, perhaps Hitler's bored with us and will bother someone else now.

No, I haven't see Da since our row, but I ring up his doctor every few days. He says the old man's got a good chance of pneumonia setting in, since he's still refusing to get out of bed. The quack's talking out of his backside if you ask me. I wouldn't be surprised if Da outlived us, the way he's pickled his liver. Still, I've looked into making arrangements in case they're right. I'm doing my best to make sure he's next to Mum.

Speaking of Mum, I visited her the other day. It's funny, even though she's been gone for a long while, I still feel like she's there with me whenever I see her, and that she's happy. I wish you'd visit her with me some time. You'd love how peaceful the cemetery is at this time of year; it's one of the few places the Jerries haven't destroyed.

Our other Glynis is doing well. She's always looking at your photo and asking about you and when you're coming home. Yesterday, she gave me a picture she drew of her and her friends playing at school, and said 'send this to Uncle Peter.' I've included it for you.

Charlotte is also doing well and says hello. She hasn't heard from Harry in awhile and is getting worried. I keep telling her not to dwell on it, though I know all too well that's easier said than done.

I've been thinking a lot about something Mum said once when we asked her about Da's time in the trenches, 'I hope the war to end all wars is exactly that. Otherwise, we've left a legacy of heartbreak and suffering for our children.' I think I understand what she meant now, yet I can't help being optimistic about the future. I have to hope Glynis and her brother or sister will see better days. That's what I think we're fighting for; not foreign policies or any other rubbish, but hope. It's the only thing worth fighting for if you ask me.

God bless you Peter. Keep safe until I can hold you in my arms again.

All my love, kisses and prayers,

Mavis


End file.
